


Of Depth Perception, Muscles, and Coping

by dorkishavenger



Category: Quarters - Tanya Huff
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-22
Updated: 2010-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:12:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkishavenger/pseuds/dorkishavenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benedikt's back home in Shkoder. What now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Depth Perception, Muscles, and Coping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/gifts).



Benedikt walked down the gangplank. Home. Shkoder. HOME. The sun was too bright in his eye, making him squint, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had a ridiculous grin on his face as he looked around.

He also had an ex-assassin in front of him. An ex-assassin and a currently-something of his. “What now?” Benedikt blurted out

Bannon stopped in front of him, with His Highness within view, waiting to step into his carriage. Bannon didn’t quite freeze, exactly. His muscles never went completely tight unless he was straining to do something or focused and about to do something. No, he was always relaxed otherwise. Ready. Catlike reflexes.

Maybe he should stop looking at the interesting way Bannon’s muscles were relaxed under that green shirt, and should start listening to what he was saying. “. . .check in, then sleep.”

Benedikt nodded. “Ah. Yes,” he said with a certain amount of embarrassment. He hadn‘t quite meant that, but he couldn‘t push things. Not in front of all these people. The crowds waiting to see the ship. “Um, see you soon?”

“Of course,” Bannon said, turning at that, but only enough to keep both Benedikt and Prince Otavas in his field of vision. His Highness sighed, leaning against the carriage, arms folded. He looked about ready to sleep. A footman held up a white cloth to him, making a horrified ‘o’ face, trying to get his Highness to put the cloth between himself and the outside of the carriage, but his Highness waved him away irritably.

Bannon peered at him for a moment, with a strangely vulnerable expression on his face. Benedikt laughed. “I’m fine. Sorry.”

He was fine. He was absolutely fine. He was fine with being back home. He was fine with being in Shkoder again after being gone for so long. He was fine with everything looking strangely flat.

. . . actually, it surprised him to realise that he *was* mostly fine with all of that. Just off balance. Now that his focus was leaving, getting into the carriage with Prince Otavas, there was too much to look at, too much to do.

Someone poked him in the centre of the back, sending him stumbling forwards. “Move it,” Karlene growled affectionately. “We’re wanted up at the castle.”

His focus narrowed back down again to the old ritual of returning home to report. Of course he could cope.

* * *

“They’ve been in my rooms,” Benedikt said with dismay, looking around. Sure, he appreciated that people had cleaned up, but things were _gone._ Or stored, which was just as bad. And where had that throw over the bed come from? Sure, it was green and blue ~~and Bannon would look incredible lazing on it against his pillow~~ and it was quite pretty, but it wasn’t _his._

He strode over and picked up the card that lay on his pillow. “Evicka. Oh. Of course.” He grinned. That was actually kind of a nice way to remind him of the dunking he’d given her.

* * *

Bed was comfortable, though he found himself feeling strangely alone in it. As if he needed someone next to him.

. . . There was a song in that.

He fell asleep an hour later at his desk. He could cope just fine by himself.

* * *

Yawning, Benedikt opened the door with the sun high in the sky.

Bannon reached out and plucked a scrap of paper off his cheek, grinning. “Rough night?”

“You - what?” Benedikt asked in confusion, stepping back and running his fingers through his hair. His mouth felt filled with sand. Still strange to be back here, but it’d only been a day and a half. Still getting back into old habits. Making new ones. Finding his land legs again.

“I can go,” Bannon said easily, but Benedikt knew him well enough by now to read the subtle signs of tension in his face; he‘d obviously been expecting more of a welcome. “They’re having some big confidential meeting that I’m not allowed into. I can’t even stay just outside as the Cemandians are convinced I’ll eavesdrop. I can find somewhere else to hide out, though.”

“Come in, idiot,” Benedikt said, finding his voice properly. “Sit down.”

He busied himself with laying out a pitcher of water, glasses, and a box of sweets that said FROM TADEUS, but he heard the door close quietly behind him. Presumably Bannon was on the correct side. Benedikt poured a glass of water for Bannon, then one for himself, and sat down on the bed. He took a sip. At least these people who’d been in his room were making themselves useful. Everything was different, but maybe that was all right.

What a trite sentiment. Definitely not making a song out of _that_.

Still standing in spite of orders, Bannon gestured at Benedikt's face. It was a short, sharp, graceful movement. Like all of Bannon's movements. Benedikt spared a moment to mourn the musician that Bannon could've been, but then Bannon spoke and all thought of _what might have been_ flew out of his head. "Did you find it difficult to adjust?"

Before it had all happened -- when he'd had two eyes, so it would've been academic anyway -- Benedikt would have stiffened at that. Would've wrapped himself in being a _bard_ of _Shkoder_ , who was perfectly all right and could manage and didn't need anyone's pity.

Now, he found it surprisingly easy to determine that there was no pity for him in Bannon. Sympathy, perhaps, from someone who'd been injured himself many times. But no pity. Mostly just an interest in how he'd coped with the physical changes.

"I do miss depth perception," Benedikt said dryly. "But yes, I stopped walking into things after the third day or so, and the unfortunate incident where I sat on someone's cat."

That startled a laugh out of Bannon, who sat down on Benedikt's blind side on the bed, and wrapped a warm arm around him. "I can show you some drills to help you compensate?"

"Is that an excuse to get me into bed?"

Bannon sighed patiently. "I don't need an excuse. If I want to get you into bed, I'll get you into bed. Oh, you _want_ me to get you into bed?"

* * *

Some time later, Benedikt stretched languorously, luxuriating in how very relaxed he felt now, loose in every muscle. . . and promptly fell off the bed. "Ow," he said to the ceiling.

Bannon's laughing, tousled head appeared over the side. "Yes, you're completely adjusted."

"It's a small bed," Benedikt protested.

He snaked an arm out to grab Bannon's shoulder, but Bannon was too quick, withdrawing just far enough that Benedikt's fingers closed on empty air.

Bannon laughed again. Benedikt mock-sighed.

A blur of motion, then Bannon was straddling him, leaning forward to brush his lips against Benedikt’s throat. “You need a bigger bed if I’m going to stay over more.”

Yes, he could definitely cope alone.

But it was nicer to cope with Bannon around.


End file.
